by Nick Oldham
‘It is.’
‘In that case. . .’ Begin lifted his foot out of the door.
Myrna closed it, whirled round and ran out to the pool.
‘What is it?’ Danny asked, seeing Myrna’s worried expression.
‘Er, nothing to worry about, I hope, but we need to talk. Tracey, will you give us a few minutes? Go upstairs to the bedroom you’ve been using? Danny and I need to discuss something.’
‘Yeah, sure, whatever.’ She failed to pick up any of Myrna’s tension. She was thinking about her next fix and where it was coming from. She calmly trundled inside the house.
Danny, however, could feel and almost see Myrna’s agitation. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Look, I don’t know - but Mario Bussola’s right-hand man is on the doorstep. I smell big trouble here. Danny, will you just hang back out of sight? It might be better if he doesn’t know you’re here - unless he knows already, of course.’
The doorbell chimed again.
‘Time’s up,’ Begin said when Myrna opened the door.
Mark Tapperman was at the scene of a murder. One of a series of drive-by shootings which had sprung up from an inter-gang dispute in downtown Miami. Two gang members had been splattered whilst sitting on the sidewalk terrace of a coffee shop. Problem was, two civilians had also been struck and one had died. Three bodies, blood, guts, overturned tables, chairs, shattered glass and lots of cops.
Tapperman surveyed the carnage. If only the civvy hadn’t bought it, he was thinking. Two gang members gunned down was easy to deal with. They deserved what they got for living like they did. But a civilian down put another angle on it.
Now the cops had to go all out to solve it, otherwise there would be a major outcry.
As if he didn’t have enough on his plate, not least of which was the small matter of hunting down Patrick Orlove, the man responsible for blowing Steve Kruger’s brains out. That was a trail that had gone ice-cold very quickly. Tapperman suspected Orlove had been whisked out of state, possibly out of the country. He despaired of ever laying his hands on the bastard.
Tapperman shook his head, refocused on the three dead bodies and lots of blood.
His mobile chirped.
‘Is that Lieutenant Tapperman?’ the worried female voice enquired.
‘Yup.’
‘I’m Erica from Kruger Investigations. I’m really sorry to bother you, but I thought you might be able to help me.’
‘I’ll try.’ Tapperman eased a toecap under the shoulder of one of the dead gang members and lifted him slightly to get a look at what remained of the face.
‘We’ve been trying to get hold of Myrna Rosza for some time, but no one here knows where she is. There’s no reply on her home number, or cell-tel. She hasn’t told us where she can be reached and we need to pass an urgent message to her. I know it’s a long shot, but-’
Tapperman pulled his toe away. ‘I know where she is - at Steve Kruger’s house. But you won’t be able to call there because his phone has been disconnected since he died. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the message?’
Erica relayed the message she had taken earlier from Felicity Bussola.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Tapperman gasped. ‘Leave it with me. . . Harry!’ He called over to another detective. ‘Take over, I gotta go!’
‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Ira Begin said. He and Myrna were in the dining room, sat at the table opposite each other. He lifted his briefcase onto the table and took out a plastic wallet. ‘You are presently protecting a witness by the name of Tracey Greenwood?’ It was a statement and question combined. He raised his eyebrows to invite a reply. None came.
Begin shrugged amicably. ‘I know she is here, whether or not you wish to admit it.’
How, you bastard? Myrna’s mind screeched. Who could have told you she was here?
‘Now you know as well as I do that I could simply walk in here with a show of force and take her away, probably hurting people like yourself in the process. I don’t wish to do that because I like win-win situations, where everybody comes out with some profit. The lawyer in me likes to negotiate, so I have a proposition for you.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘In this wallet I have copies of certain documents that, if they were made public and sent to the right people - the IRS, the FBI, CIA, your customers, even. . . would destroy Kruger Investigations.’ Begin opened the wallet and shook out a sheaf of papers. He placed them on the table and fanned them out. ‘They relate to a very illegal business transaction in which Kruger Investigations acted as agents to supply certain goods to enemies of the USA.’
‘Cut to the chase.’
‘Hand the girl over and I will ensure you receive the originals of these documents within the hour. Then we shall both be happy. You won’t have this hanging over your head like the Sword of Damocles and the girl will not be a thorn in our side.’
‘And what about her? Where does she stand in this win-win situation?’
‘She loses.’
‘And if I don’t agree?’
‘I’ll take her by force, kill you if necessary, but if I don’t kill you, I’ll ruin Kruger Investigations just for fun.’
‘Shit, Myrna, answer the godamned phone!’ Tapperman was driving maniacally, steering with one hand, mobile crushed to his ear by his free hand. He swerved dangerously, in and out of traffic, accelerating and braking madly, yelling obscenities at all other road-users.
‘How much time do I have to think?’
Ira Begin made a show of checking his watch. ‘Not long.’
Myrna stood up. ‘Let me have a few minutes. I need to go over this in my head.’
‘Sure, fine, Mrs Rosza, but don’t do anything rash like call the cops.’
‘As if.’
She left the room and walked quickly into the kitchen where Danny waited apprehensively.
‘Where the hell’s my phone?’ Myrna demanded.
‘Out by the pool, I think.’
She ran out and picked it up off the coffee table and started to dial. Danny was behind her. ‘What’s going on, Myrna?’
‘Why the hell is this thing not working?’ Myrna looked at the machine and realised the battery was dead. She did a quick exchange for one in her purse. Immediately, she thumbed the power button, the phone rang.
‘Yes?’ she answered cautiously.
It was Mark Tapperman. Myrna listened as he shouted to her to get the hell out of the house.
‘It’s too late, Mark. Begin’s already here and by assumption he’s probably got back-up stashed away nearby.’
‘I’ll try and get a team there myself,’ Tapperman yelled, then, ‘Oh shit!’
There was a loud crash and Myrna held the phone away from her ear. ‘Mark, you okay?’
‘Yeah, yeah, f’Christ’s sake. I’ve just hit a parked car. You try and get outta there, Myrna. I’ll do my best to get a SWAT team to you, or something.’ He ended the call.
Myrna eyed Danny. ‘Bussola wants Tracey, the easy way or the hard way. I can’t give her to him, Danny. I don’t know what the hell to do.’
‘You go back and keep Begin talking,’ Danny said, getting her brain into gear. ‘I’ll nip upstairs and get Tracey. Have you got the keys for that car on the drive?’
‘The Chevy? Yeah - hung up in the kitchen.’
‘Right - I’ll get Tracey into the van while you talk to Begin. When she’s there I’ll come and get you and we’ll make a run for it. How does that sound?’
‘Like shit, Danny - but it’s better than anything I can think of at this moment in time. Can you use a gun, Danny?’
The English detective nodded unsurely as Myrna told her where Steve Kruger kept the firearms in his bedroom.
‘This was supposed to be a jolly,’ Danny said to herself as she sneaked quietly upstairs and went into Steve Kruger’s bedroom. ‘Not a fucking Wild West show.’ She opened the drawer in the bedside cabinet as instructed and found Kruger’s snub-
nosed .38 special. She tucked it very carefully into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back.
Next she went to the wardrobe where she found two more weapons, shaking her head in astonishment on seeing them. ‘Just what sort of a country have I come to?’ she asked herself.
One of the guns was a pistol, the other a Heckler & Kock sub-machine pistol, very light, accurate and deadly. It looked thoroughly evil to Danny. She put the small pistol down her waistband next to the revolver and dropped the HK into her holdall.
Then she went to collect Tracey.
‘I want the originals in my hand before I give up the girl,’ Myrna bluffed to Begin.
‘That will not be possible,’ he said. ‘I am a man of honour; as I said, you will have the originals delivered to you within an hour of me taking possession of the girl. Trust me.’
Myrna leaned back, pretending to consider this. In reality she was straining to hear outside the dining-room door, trying to judge where Danny was up to with Tracey.
‘You keep very, very quiet,’ Danny hissed. ‘Believe me, your life depends on it, so does mine and so does Myrna’s.’
The girl was compliant, terrified.
Danny crept downstairs ahead of her, into the hallway and to the front door, passing the dining room on the way.
From the front door it was less than twelve feet to the Chevrolet. Danny looked at the keys in her hand and her heart sank when she saw the remote-control locking fob. She pointed it at the car and held her breath, hoping it would not make too much of a noise.
There was a loud squeak as the alarm was deactivated and the doors unlocked.
Danny paused, expecting a reaction. Nothing happened.
She walked confidently to the car, her eyes taking in everything there was to be seen up and down the cul-de-sac - including the two sedans parked a hundred yards away, each packed with muscle. Danny swallowed. She opened the rear door and beckoned Tracey to get in.
‘Lie down across the seat and don’t move,’ Danny instructed her harshly. She jumped into the driver’s seat, threw her holdall into the passenger footwell and started the engine.
Once she was happy it was ticking over nicely, she ran back to the house.
Myrna winced when she heard Kruger’s car squawk like a parrot, and eyed Begin in readiness for a reaction.
He simply sat staring at Myrna, not in the least suspecting what was going on.
‘Okay,’ Myrna said with a sigh, apparently reaching a decision. She leaned forwards. ‘I’ll do it.’
Begin beamed the smile of the modest victor. ‘You’ve seen sense,’ he patronised.
The door crashed open and Danny came into the room like a whirlwind, snub-nosed revolver in her right hand, pistol in her left.
‘Here - catch!’ she shouted and tossed the pistol across to Myrna who caught it expertly, rising from her chair, pivoting round and pointing it at Begin.
‘Actually I’m not interested in your fucking deal,’ she said. ‘It stinks.’
‘You fool,’ Begin said calmly, sitting back.
‘No, I don’t think so. Now you sit there like a good boy, otherwise I’ll blast your fucking head off.’
The women backed slowly out of the room, their guns aimed dangerously at Begin. He did not move, other than to shake his head deprecatingly.
Once out of the door, Danny shouted, ‘You drive!’
They turned and ran out to the Chevrolet which
Myrna slammed into reverse. She stood on the gas and released the parking brake. The wheels spun and the car lurched backwards.
Begin appeared at the front door, beckoning towards the two cars parked down the road, wildly flapping his hands to get his message across.
‘Scrotes ahead,’ Danny yelled.
‘Seen ‘em,’ Myrna retorted, gritting her teeth.
As the car swerved out of the driveway, Myrna yanked the gear-stick into Drive and gunned the gearbox into ‘kick-down’. It surged forwards.
Up ahead, both cars moved away from the kerb and stopped side by side, effectively blocking the road. Men jumped out, took cover behind open doors and aimed weapons at the Chevrolet.
‘Get down!’ Myrna screamed. ‘And hold on tight!’ In the back seat, Tracey whimpered pathetically.
The first bullet crashed through the windshield. Danny felt it whizz inches away from her head. The next one embedded itself in her headrest. She ducked. Myrna grappled with the wheel. She pulled it down to the left, mounted the kerb with a thud, putting the Chevrolet at an angle to the shooters. Bullets slammed into the side. Danny’s window shattered into a million pieces and the bullet passed right in front of Myrna’s eyes, exiting through her side window which also shattered.
A second later Myrna powered the Chevrolet through a low, perfectly manicured and cultivated hedge, into a front garden. This was the only way past Bussola’s men.
Whether it was braveness or stupidity, Danny wasn’t sure - probably a combination of both - but she sat up, having pulled the HK out of her holdall. She rested it on the doorframe where the window had once been, aimed it in the general direction of the men and pulled back the trigger. Even though there was hardly any recoil, her shooting was wild and inaccurate but it had the desired effect of making Bussola’s men dive for better cover as the Chevrolet roared past.
Myrna pulled back onto the road, unable to stop a smile cracking on her face.
Danny slumped, feeling the crumbs of the broken glass all down her back. She looked at the bullet-holes in the windshield, the remnants of the two side windows, twisted to see the bullet-hole in the headrest and then looked at the weapon in her hands which was literally smoking. Unbelievably a sensation of pure exhilaration went through her.
‘That was amazing,’ she said to Myrna. ‘Fucking amazing.’
Chapter Twenty-four
It was a thick, buff, legal envelope. On the front of it were written two names - Henry Christie and Danny Furness. It had been lying, still sealed, on Henry’s dining-room table ever since the Constable investigating the suicide of Maurice Stanway had dropped it off at his home address.
There had been no obvious suicide note amongst Stanway’s papers at his office, the Constable told Henry. Just this envelope with the two names on it. It could well be the suicide note, but the PC was handing it over to Henry for him to do whatever he wanted to do with it that evening, so long as he returned it the following day.
The police were actually under strict instructions from the Coroner not to open and read suicide notes if they were sealed; only the Coroner was allowed to do that.
Henry tore the envelope open.
A neatly bound file of papers slithered out. Handwritten, probably by Stanway.
Henry began to read: This is for the two detectives investigating the case of Charles Gilbert. By the time you read this, I, Maurice Alan Stanway, will be dead, having taken my own life. I decided to end my life, simply because I could no longer bear to live with myself having consigned two other people to death. I will tell you about that in a while. But I detest myself utterly. I am a weak, pathetic individual, easily led and influenced. And the main influence in my life has been Charles Gilbert. I know everything there is to know about Charles Gilbert and the last thing I want to do is die without revealing these details to other people.
Henry stopped reading and flicked quickly through the pages. There were eleven. It would take him some time to read them. He poured himself a large Bell’s with a dash of soda and settled down.
The house was quiet. His wife, Kate, and his two daughters, Jenny and Leanne, were tucked up in bed asleep. They were more exhausted than he was by the long hours he’d been putting in.
It was 11 p.m.
Myrna, Danny and Tracey spent the rest of that afternoon under guard, courtesy of Mark Tapperman and the Miami Police Department, at Miami International Airport. Tapperman had arranged for the use of an executive lounge and posted uniformed, armed police officers at every entrance and exit.
/> No one seriously thought Bussola was stupid enough to try anything, but better safe than sorry.
It was a tense afternoon for the women. They said little to each other, even less to Tapperman. When it was announced their flight would be delayed another hour, it only served to make them more jumpy than ever.
At 7 p.m., passengers were called to the boarding gate.
Surrounded by armed cops, Danny and Tracey were escorted all the way to the gate, jumping ahead of the queue of passengers, right up to the door of the plane.
Myrna and Tapperman were with them all the way.
At the door, Danny turned to Myrna. They embraced.
‘It’ll be a tight schedule at the far end,’ Myrna said.
‘Yes, I know,’ Danny said. There was an 8 a.m. landing, British time. Very tight, especially when the court sat at 10 a.m.
‘Look after yourself,’ Danny told Myrna. ‘We’ll be safe from here on in, but you’ll have to watch your back.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Myrna said. ‘I’ve got this big oaf watching over me, even though he keeps crashing cars on the way to help me.’ She thumbed Tapperman. He gave a lopsided grin and shook hands with Danny, who ushered Tracey onto the aircraft.
Tapperman and Myrna walked back against the tide of boarding passengers. Tapperman bumped into one guy who had a vaguely familiar look about him. Tapperman thought no more about the encounter.
Felicity suppressed a giggle. She did not even need to have her ear to the door to listen to this one: Mario Bussola going ape-shit with Ira Begin for letting three women outwit and outrun him. Bussola’s angry voice boomed down the hallway outside Begin’s office and all Felicity had to do was stand in the doorway of the living room and try not to laugh too loudly.
They had done it, Felicity thought triumphantly. The girl was now on her way to England safe and sound.
And Mario was left with a face full of scrambled egg.
